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<title>First Words by great-pan-is-dead (technicolour_space_cadets)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24669595">First Words</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/technicolour_space_cadets/pseuds/great-pan-is-dead'>great-pan-is-dead (technicolour_space_cadets)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Interview With the Vampire (1994), Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:41:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>332</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24669595</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/technicolour_space_cadets/pseuds/great-pan-is-dead</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Breaking years of silence of Lestat's name in solitude, Louis resolves to finally tell his story.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>First Words</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set pre-IWTV. Digging up some oldies I never quite published.<br/>Written October 2017.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He had rolled it around his head like a great drum, sometimes so faint it was forgotten about, others roaring into some insanity, for years. He had spent a century catching the name before it fell from his tongue. He felt as though he had forgotten what it sounded like to say in his mind.</p><p>In the grey blare of a television in a clammy apartment, it came through the static his thoughts had fallen into, a white noise hurting his ears. Now Louis finally allowed himself to utter it, foreign and familiar, only to cut across the din. <em> Lestat. </em> His mind had come to make itself. Like a child’s first word, growing from a whisper to bold, articulate, confident; Lestat. In a rush of unrefined freedom, he couldn’t stop saying it: yelled in anger, cried in hope, shouted in madness. <em> Lestat, Lestat, Lestat. </em> A beg for help, of soft affection, bitter cursing. <em> Lestat, Lestat, Lestat. </em> Hurried mumbles became like something pleaded over and over in ecstasy, tumbling over into musing, the sounds blurring into one continuous thought. He put his fingers to his lips, touched what the word felt like beneath them, paced the room, clawing a hand through his hair. <em> Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. </em>A prayer. A spite. A praise. Vicious swearing; love. </p><p>Then, as suddenly as it had taken him over, the frenzied torrent came to an end; flowing in him as blood, throbbing in his skull, Louis fell silent again. Something in him satiated, rounded, at liberty.</p><p>He needed to find someone, he <em> would </em> find someone, to tell the name over and over. So that it might not be dead to the world as Lestat was, writ on paper and in the ears of another so that the name may never grace his lips again. Peace would not come to him until it was unspun, and if only Lestat could be told to any other soul, could it be forgotten. The television static crackled, and Louis opened the door.</p>
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